


Earning His Notice

by Lomonaaeren



Series: July Celebration Fics 2018 [8]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pre-Slash, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 12:22:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15243312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomonaaeren/pseuds/Lomonaaeren
Summary: Harry has almost accepted that he won’t be going back to his own time, and he’s working in a small apothecary in Diagon Alley to make ends meet. Then someone tries to blow up his employer’s shop, and that brings him face-to-face with Tom Riddle, who he successfully avoided during his time at Hogwarts.





	Earning His Notice

**Author's Note:**

> This is another of my July Celebration fics. It will have a sequel at some point.

****Harry carefully dumped the dried phoenix feather dander into the vial and then capped it. He glanced towards the front of the shop, then shook his head as he remembered that Ophelia had said he could set a price for this particular ingredient. He considered for a moment, then wrote _Five Galleons_ on the small placard under the vial.

He smiled as he stepped back. He’d never thought he would enjoy brewing, but not having Snape right behind him, breathing down his neck, really did improve his performance, to the point that he’d got an Exceeds Expectations on his Potions NEWT.

The smile faded as Harry went back to preparing small bundles of the standard Potions kit for Hogwarts students due to arrive tomorrow. Sometimes he would have given anything to have Snape back.

But there simply wasn’t going to be another chance to see Snape, not for him. Or Ron, or Hermione, or Ginny, or Mrs. Weasley, or anyone else he knew and loved. When Harry had ordered the Elder Wand to destroy itself so it would stop following him around, an enormous flash of light had consumed him, and he’d woken up in 1944.

He’d been operating in a state of shock for months, Harry thought clinically now as he arranged small sets of brass scales in each kit. He’d arrived in February, for some reason, and he’d used those months to establish a sort of background. He couldn’t pretend to be anything but Muggleborn, of course, but he’d still needed a lie that would explain why he’d never received a Hogwarts letter.

Strangely enough, the Dursleys had provided the inspiration. Harry had opened up, cautiously, to a few residents of Diagon Alley, and told them that his Muggle parents had been so horrified by his magic that they’d kept him prisoner in their house for years and never let him escape. He’d finally fled them when he was twelve and managed to find another reclusive Muggleborn wizard, who had supposedly taught him what he knew. It provided an excellent reason for him to use a made-up last name, Keller, which Harry took because it didn’t have any connections with wizards or witches that he could think of, and to be able to attend Hogwarts as a seventh-year, once he’d proven he could master the OWL material, and to keep his head down and his mouth shut.

And that had all worked. Harry had drawn some kind glances from the professors, but no notice—not from Slughorn, not from Dumbledore, not from Dippet. And not from Tom Riddle, who had been in his seventh year with Harry at the time. Harry had been Sorted into Hufflepuff, made a few casual friends, demonstrated no feats of extraordinary power.

He _had_ studied time travel and the Deathly Hallows, without making any progress. All Harry could reckon was that he hadn’t changed time _yet_ , and shouldn’t try to make any ripples, until he was either sure that he could find a way back home or sure that he could make a positive change.

Now it was two years later, and that point hadn’t arrived yet.

Harry sighed and placed the last set of brass scales, then turned towards the front to ask Ophelia where those dragonhide Potions gloves were.

A giant glowing fireball rolled up in front of the shop. Harry stared for a single second before the great window that displayed the cauldrons Ophelia sold disintegrated in a rush of glass and flame.

Harry instinctively lifted the thickest shield he could. The shock wave of the explosion rolled into the back of the shop, hit the shield, and came to a halt. Harry gritted his teeth and poured more strength into the shield, holding it steady. It drew magic from him at an intense rate, but he would die if he let the force of the explosion through. There were too many objects in here that could jab through his heart or lungs if they became airborne.

Finally, the force died away, and Harry nearly staggered as he dismissed the shield. He ran into the front, looking around for Ophelia. He found her sprawled face-down behind the counter, her white hair spread around her head.

Harry dropped helplessly to his knees beside her, and then dragged in a sweeping breath of relief. She was alive. And she didn’t appear to have any wounds but a small bleeding one on her temple. Harry conjured his Patronus and spoke in a clipped tone to the silvery stag. “St. Mungo’s. Tell them the owner of Mellar’s Marvels has been injured. Use caution when Apparating in.”

The stag reared and vanished. Harry cast what healing spells he knew, to conjure a pallet underneath Ophelia and stop the bleeding. He did try to wake her up, as well, but she remained motionless. He grimaced. He knew you were supposed to keep people with a concussion awake, but he had no idea how to check that they _had_ a concussion or wake them up if they were already unconscious.

Then he heard footsteps moving through the broken glass where the window had been.

Harry instinctively crouched behind the counter, and listened. Two voices argued in low enough tones he couldn’t tell what they were saying for a minute, and then one of them rose. “Well, don’t come with me, then! But our Lord said that he wanted one of the gold cauldrons, and I’m going to get it.”

 _Abraxas Malfoy_. Hatred rose inside Harry so swiftly it choked him. He’d stopped Malfoy from bullying more than one first-year in his time at Hogwarts, although so subtly that Malfoy hadn’t usually realized it was him.

But now…

_Death Eaters. They’re Death Eaters._

Now was probably the time for that positive change to the timeline.

Harry gathered himself, drawing in all the strength and calmness and quietude he could. He stepped out from behind the counter just as Malfoy ducked through the remains of the window.

Malfoy saw him, and for a second paused in surprise. But then his wand leaped, and the shards of glass still on the floor leaped up like daggers in a whirlwind and aimed straight at Harry’s throat and femoral artery.

Harry’s wand flourished from side to side in response, and two of the twisted, shattered cauldrons that had been in the window when it exploded Transfigured themselves into snarling dogs, the size and shape of Grims. They were still made of pewter, but at the moment, Harry considered that an advantage rather than otherwise. One charged Malfoy, while the other leaped up, whirling into the path of the glass shards and making them ping off it. Harry raised a shield to deal with the last ones.

Malfoy cast a _Finite_ to retain the Transfigured dog to its normal shape, but in doing that, he took too much of his attention off Harry. Harry snapped his wand out and muttered a spell he’d been working on perfecting, once he figured out that it was mostly a matter of desire and will. “ _Catena ignis_!”

Fireballs blossomed in the air all around Malfoy, an unending chain of them, and then streaked at him from every direction. Malfoy yelped as he began to dance around, dealing with them, and although he managed to stop most of them, a few got through and singed his hair.

And then the remaining pewter dog leaped on him from behind and crushed him to the floor, like Ophelia had been crushed.

Harry Disarmed him at once, and shoved his wand into the pocket he’d enchanted in the back of his robes that meant nothing in it could be Summoned anywhere. He approached Malfoy slowly, looking into the smoke and the dissipating dust for a sign of his companion. Apparently the other proto-Death Eater had Apparated, though.

“What did you want here, Malfoy?” Harry asked, standing over him. The pewter dog was splayed out on Malfoy’s back, his paws spread to their fullest extent and his metallic teeth right next to the nape of the bastard’s neck. He wasn’t going anywhere right now.

Said bastard looked at him with eyes full of hatred, but said nothing. Harry shrugged. He hoped the Healers from St. Mungo’s would be here soon to take care of Ophelia, but in the meantime, he conjured another Patronus. Malfoy stared cross-eyed at the stag that sprang into being and cantered around Harry.

“Please go to the Head Auror in the Department of Magic Law Enforcement,” Harry told Prongs. “Tell them I have a wizard who broke into—”

“No, Keller! Don’t!”

Harry and Prongs both paused to look down at Malfoy. “Why not?” Harry asked. “You were the one who was always bragging in school about how your last name would get you out of any trouble. This isn’t going to be more than a minor inconvenience for you.”

“I don’t—” Malfoy swallowed. “My father would be extremely displeased that I brought the notice of the law down on us.”

 _Probably Riddle more than his father,_ Harry decided, but Hermione had taught him the value of blackmail. He pretended to think about it, while Prongs shook his antlers impatiently next to Harry. “I suppose I could keep this from reaching the ears of the Aurors,” Harry said slowly, “if you’ll do something for me.”

Malfoy’s face immediately lit up. “What?”

“You don’t repeat the attack on this shop _for any reason_. Come in and buy things like a normal person if you want them. And you’ll pay for Ophelia’s treatment at St. Mungo’s.” Harry didn’t have that much money himself, and Ophelia, who normally only spoke about business and listened to Harry’s talk, was such a private person he had no idea if she could pay for it.

“Done. Now, _please_ , Keller, let me up before someone comes.”

Harry nodded and gestured the Transfigured dog off Malfoy’s back. Then he tossed Malfoy’s wand to him, while obviously keeping his own out. Malfoy cast a Cleaning Charm first, and then one that straightened his robes. Harry didn’t hide the roll of his eyes, either.

Before he turned around to leave the shop, Malfoy gave a half-bow of his head to Harry. “You’re not so bad, Keller.”

 _I hold him down and blackmail him, and I’m not so bad? Slytherin standards sure are twisted._ Harry shrugged at him, and Malfoy seemed to take that as the admission it was, and Apparated.

The Healers began arriving a moment later.

*

“Excuse me. I’m looking for Harry Keller.”

Harry jerked straight at the soft voice coming from the front of the shop. Ophelia was at home, supposedly recovering but probably tending her herb garden that a large part of their ingredients came from, knowing her. She’d given Harry the coin to hire the nephew of one of her friends, called Caelum, to work the front of the shop.

“Of course, sir. Let me get him for you. Keller!”

Harry turned and walked slowly towards his doom. He’d recognized that voice.

Tom Riddle turned and smiled at him. His eyes had a faint sheen of red, but other than that, he hadn’t changed since Harry’s last glimpse of him at the Leaving Feast two years ago. “Mr. Keller. Will you take a walk with me? We have things to talk about.”

“Oh, not all _that_ much, surely,” Harry burbled, going straight for brainless. “I know there’s a lot that’s been happening in the past few years, but I don’t have much opinion on it. I just work here in the shop. I think you must know a lot more than I do.”

“I wanted to talk to you about the unfortunate incident last week.”

“Oh, Mr. Malfoy already paid for Ophelia’s treatment. Wasn’t that nice of him?”

“Spectacular,” Riddle said softly. His eyes hadn’t moved from Harry’s face. “Come, Mr. Keller. We both know this isn’t going to get you out of coming.”

“What?” Caelum asked, glancing between them and frowning.

 _Shit. Audience. Right._ Harry took a slow, deep breath. He wanted to change time, wanted to prevent Riddle’s rise, but giving Riddle a reason to hurt or _Obliviate_ a random kid wasn’t part of his ambitions. “All right,” he said. “Can you watch the shop by yourself for a little while, Caelum?”

From the look on his face, Caelum was thrilled to be trusted with an “adult” responsibility. “Of course, Mr. Keller! You can count on me!”

Harry gave him a smile as fake as the one he’d given Riddle and walked out of the shop. Riddle moved easily beside him—exactly beside him, not a step in advance as Harry had predicted he’d move. But the gaze of his dark eyes that missed nothing and were incredibly, unfairly devouring was exactly as Harry had thought it would be.

He waited until they were walking through a more crowded part of the alley and raised a soft Silencing Bubble around them that would move with them and prevent anyone outside it from hearing more than mere murmurs. “What do you want with me, Riddle? You know I’m a Mudblood.”

“Abraxas told me that you strongly objected to that term.”

“I was trying to make you feel more at home.”

Riddle reached out, towards his arm. He probably only meant to touch it, but Harry whirled to the side and dropped into a fast battle-crouch.

“And _that_ explains exactly why I’m so interested in you, Mr. Keller,” Riddle murmured.

Harry stood back up, making sure to shift his feet a little so that he had some distance between him and the wall at his back. “Because I can fight? Not impressive. I’m sure I wouldn’t hold up one-to-one in a formal duel against an educated pure-blood.”

Riddle didn’t smile. “Abraxas told me everything that happened in the duel between you, Keller. Including your use of Transfiguration and your Patronus.”

Harry grimaced. He supposed the Patronus had made him seem more powerful. Everything else was ordinary magic, or at least it would be if people paid attention to their lessons at Hogwarts, but the Patronus was still beyond the grasp of most wizards in this time. “What do you want, Riddle?”

“To find out what you want.”

“Malfoy’s paid his debt to me.”

“Not that way. To find out what you want from life.” Riddle leaned towards him, and Harry had to clench his teeth so he wouldn’t lean away in immediate reaction. “So that I can give it to you.”

“And recruit me to your side.”

Riddle’s smile flashed, on cue. “You’re intelligent enough to realize there is a side. Most other wizards our age don’t know that yet.”

Harry slightly shook his head. “I’m also intelligent enough to realize I would be disposable, Riddle. Maybe you would use me in an attack or two, or you would have me teach the Patronus Charm to your followers, or something like that. But ultimately, you’d betray me or kill me.”

Riddle stared at him. Every line of his body was intent and _noticing_ , which made Harry suppress the instinct to run again. “Why do you say that? You’re clearly powerful. You’re far more intelligent than you let on. You hid at school and evaded my attention, which is rare. Why wouldn’t I want to keep you?”

“Because I don’t give you enough of what _you_ want. I’m not a pure-blood, so I can’t hand you the family connections that people like Malfoy can. I won’t fawn on you, so you won’t get the charge of respect and fear from me that you do when you command your other followers. I don’t _want_ to follow you, so you won’t have my loyalty. I’m powerful, sure, but so are lots of other wizards. Same with the intelligence. I don’t believe in this recruitment effort.”

Riddle’s eyes darted rapidly back and forth over him. Harry had no idea what he was seeing. He continued to stare silently at Riddle, waiting.

Then Riddle said, softly, “Someone once told me I should have someone to challenge me and keep me from getting complacent.”

“And you _believed_ them?”

“Not when he said it. Since then, I have been forcibly reminded that there are times the words of enemies are worth paying attention to.”

 _Dumbledore. I bet it was Dumbledore._ Harry drew breath against a dizzying surge of homesickness and said, “Well, you can find someone else to challenge you.”

“You believe that you can simply go back to working in an apothecary after this?”

“Of fucking _course_ I can. No one but Malfoy and I saw what happened in the shop. His friend fled, the Healers weren’t there yet, Ophelia was unconscious. I won’t tell anyone that Malfoy follows you. I can go back to my life like normal.”

“ _Expelliarmus_!”

Harry blocked the Disarming Charm on instinct, and then raised shields all alongside himself and around them as Riddle turned his wand outwards. Harry didn’t know if he could protect everyone in the Alley, but he would damn sure try.

Riddle hurled curse after curse. Harry blocked them all, not bothering to respond offensively. For some reason, Riddle was treating this like a formal duel, a demonstration. What Harry didn’t know was why.

Then Riddle cast a spell Harry didn’t know, actually chanting the invocation aloud. “ _Potentiam invoco_!”

The spell hit Harry’s _Protego_ —and evidently did nothing. Instead, all the shields that Harry had made shimmered a brilliant green-gold, and so did Harry’s body. He eyed Riddle, waiting for the light to turn painful or make his shields collapse.

Nothing of the sort happened. Instead, the light faded, and Riddle tucked his wand away, looking pleased with himself.

Harry had to do the same, or look as if he was continuing the duel after Riddle had already surrendered. They had attracted enough notice as it was. “What the _fuck_ are you doing?” he asked, keeping his voice low despite the still-intact Silencing Bubble.

“The spell I cast showed how many shields you were maintaining at once, and how much magic is residing in your body.” Riddle inclined his head. “I have the feeling that you’re about to get some _interested_ visits from various departments in the Ministry.”

Harry snarled at him. “So you made it impossible for me to hide?”

Riddle shot him an unexpected, narrow glance that flickered with red. “Someone like you has no _right_ to hide, Keller.” And he moved smoothly off and was gone just as two Aurors started wandering towards Harry.

Harry lowered the shields, and swore.

*

“But I don’t understand why you wouldn’t go into the Aurors. It’s much better money than you can earn working here!”

Harry walked away from Caelum, shaking his head. There was no way that he could explain all the complexities of time travel and why he’d wanted to walk in an apothecary, out of public view, to a sixteen-year-old kid on holiday from Hogwarts. Harry hadn’t even explained it to Ophelia, and she was the one he was closest to in this time.

But the days of being out of public view were gone.

Aurors had come to interview him—and it was all about joining them, not about the duel he’d had with Riddle in the middle of Diagon Alley, although that had been the supposed excuse at first. A few professional duelists had come asking him if he’d considered an apprenticeship. He’d received a letter from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures telling him that magical strength was an asset in subduing dangerous beasts.

Harry would have found it annoying even if he hadn’t wanted to avoid attention. Magical power was _not_ the be-all and end-all of what you should be looking for in someone with an important job!

The bell rang, and Caelum stammered out something, but Caelum stammered at everybody, so Harry didn’t pay attention at first. Then a familiar voice said, “Don’t worry, dear boy, I’ll find him.”

And it wasn’t Riddle this time.

Harry found himself blinking back tears as Dumbledore walked into the room. He still had auburn hair and not as many lines around his eyes, but God, he was so _familiar._ It had killed Harry not to get close to him when he was a student at Hogwarts.

“Hello, sir,” Harry whispered.

“Hello, Mr. Keller.” Dumbledore sat down on one of the stools Harry used when he was shelling beetles and tapped the Elder Wand thoughtfully against his palm. Harry kept his gaze away from it with an effort. “I suspect you must be sick of people coming to talk to you about job opportunities. I do have an opportunity I’d like you to consider, but not precisely a job.”

“At least I know it’s not about the Defense position at Hogwarts, then.”

“No, I’m afraid that your NEWT’s wouldn’t allow that, anyway,” Dumbledore said cheerfully, and paused. “Which was a conscious choice, wasn’t it, Mr. Keller?”

Harry sighed and leaned against the shelves. “Yeah. I didn’t want anyone to notice me.”

“Now that your disguise is blown to pieces,” Dumbledore said, “I wonder if you’ll consider joining someone else who doesn’t want to be noticed right now.”

Harry stiffened. “Riddle did say something about it, sir. It doesn’t matter. There are—important reasons that I can’t.”

“I think I may know some of those reasons.” Dumbledore spoke softly, and he was looking at the potions vials behind Harry more than straight at him. “But you might consider. If reality is fragile enough to be shattered by the actions of one man forty or fifty years before his birth, how can he tell _which_ action tosses reality in the air and gives it a push? Is it fair to assume that a violent or grandiose one is necessary? Or might simply existing in that reality be the relevant action?”

Harry couldn’t swallow, his throat was so dry. “If he took an assumed name—if he tried hard not to be noticed—”

“He might still be. And a name and face can be remembered. Especially by someone who was still alive forty or fifty years later.”

“You believe that I’m here to shatter the timeline like glass then, sir?”

“I think things happen for a reason, even accidents, Mr. Keller. What I ask you to do is take advantage of these things to make them _happy_ accidents. I know you can.”

Harry hunched his shoulders. Of course Dumbledore would want to stop Riddle the minute he became a rising Dark Lord. This wasn’t an unusual request.

And if Harry could—wouldn’t he? He’d still been planning to interfere, just later, when undeniable Death Eater activity started happening.

_He’s right. What is the difference between doing this now and doing this later? If I was going to interfere, then it was always going to be catastrophic._

“There are still some questions I’d like answered, sir,” he said quietly. “Including how I’m going to keep from being found out when I know Riddle is a Legilimens and I’m a horrible liar.”

Dumbledore looked at him directly now, with a delighted smile. “You _are_ prepared,” he said approvingly. “Don’t worry, Harry—can I call you Harry? We’ll make sure that you’re not walking into a trap long before you walk into Riddle’s house.”

Harry relaxed onto another stool. It would never be the same, but he couldn’t deny the trickle of _rightness_ that struck him at hearing Albus Dumbledore call him “Harry” again.

*

“I’m so glad that you’re reconsidering my offer, Harry.”

 _Riddle_ calling him Harry, on the other hand, caused nothing but a trickle of revulsion in his belly. Harry gave Riddle a tight smile and stepped through the door he was holding open. Then he took up his cloak and held it out to the silent house-elf who appeared to take it, studying the house to avoid Riddle’s painstaking, dissecting gaze.

This wasn’t the Riddle house, Harry was certain. Probably someplace borrowed from one of the Death Eaters. It had cavernous corridors and arched ceilings and carvings of flowers and beasts that seemed to shift every time Harry turned his head and torches that lit in front of them and then extinguished behind them as they paced towards a dining room. Harry continued to look and didn’t turn to Riddle until he made a low, amused noise.

“Are you going to ignore me all evening to gape at the scenery, Harry?”

“Well, I’m unfamiliar with it. Muggleborn, remember? Whereas you were a pretty familiar sight in Hogwarts.”

“I count myself unfortunate that I was not familiar enough with _you_ to realize the extent of your power,” Riddle said as they entered the dining room. Yeah, just as Harry had thought there would be, a huge mahogany table dominated the scene, and there were two place settings gleaming with silver and crystal. They were right next to each other instead of separated by the length of the table, though. _Wonderful._ Harry hoped he hid his grimace, and kept his hand from rising to touch the little silver brooch that pinned his shirt collar closed. That brooch was woven with powerful charms Dumbledore had cast, which meant that Harry should, hopefully, be able to lie successfully to a master Legilimens.

“I’m still not sure that my power is worth that much to you,” Harry said. He ignored the way Riddle tried to draw one of the chairs out for him, and sat down in the other one. “How are your other followers going to feel about you paying attention to a lowly Mudblood, or even worse, a _Hufflepuff_?”

“My followers are not foolish enough to say anything like that.” Riddle sat down in the chair he had pulled out with no sign that Harry had inconvenienced him, his smile light.

“I didn’t get the idea they were all that intelligent.”

“They would not say anything like that because of the punishments that would come their way for the loosening of their tongues.”

“Oh, and I’m supposed to join you, then?” Harry kept himself from starting as the baked fish of the first course popped into being on the plates. He’d been familiar with this sort of thing at Hogwarts, after all. “Punishment and subordination? What attractive choices.”

“I could never imagine myself punishing _you_.”

“I’m not one to keep my tongue between my teeth, Riddle.” Now that he didn’t have to worry about hiding, Harry cast all the detection charms he knew at the food. Riddle only lounged back and watched him with the same smile. Then he picked up his fork at the exact same moment as Harry did.

“I know, but different followers are courted in different ways. I realize that you won’t agree to work with me unless you can stand at my side as an equal and escape any punishments. I would still hurt you if you _betrayed_ me. But not for speaking your mind.”

“You don’t have any equals, Riddle.”

“It’s always nice to be recognized for one’s true level of skill.”

Harry rolled his eyes and ate a few fluffy mouthfuls of the baked fish, which had some kind of lemon sauce smeared on it that was delicious and made his stomach rumble. Working for Ophelia let him survive, but not taste food as fine as this. “I mean that you won’t work with someone else and _truly_ treat them as your equal.”

“Harry.”

Harry made the mistake of looking up, and directly into Riddle’s eyes. Riddle was leaning forwards, and there was so much chaotic intensity in his face that it was like staring down a lightning bolt.

“I know you’re more than you’ve pretended,” Riddle breathed out. “Your intelligence, your power, your ability to take care of yourself—you’ve always downplayed it. I want to find out your secrets, and I intend to coax you into telling me.”

“Not going to read it out of my mind?” The brooch Dumbledore had lent Harry would keep Riddle from doing that, but Harry wanted Riddle to know he was aware of his skills in Legilimency.

“That would be against your will.”

A snort ripped out of Harry before he could stop himself. “And _you’re_ always about free will, huh, Riddle?”

“Only when I have to be.” Riddle was eating his own fish with a faint smile on his face. “I’ll be direct when I must, too. I know that you don’t wish to spend time with me—to be noticed. I know that you’re not here because you’re impressed with me.”

 _And if he knows that much, what else can he figure out?_ But Harry just keeps eating more of his fish, and smiles a little himself.

“I think that you might oppose me and be a serious problem,” Riddle said. “Or sit out of the fight and then intervene later. I want to have a good idea of your strength now. I know that I must be honest with you, and that I must treat you as an equal. Don’t mistake me for an altruist. Know me, always, as someone who appreciates the strength of potential enemies.”

Harry frowned at him a little. Riddle caught it, of course. “What?”

“Well, everyone in school talked about how you didn’t like Professor Dumbledore. Do you really appreciate his strength?”

“Dumbledore. Well. He did have some reasons for enmity towards me that are his own. But he hasn’t shown any desire to be in political power in the wizarding world. If he really doesn’t mean to, then I shall be able to hold my neutrality regarding him.”

Harry shook his head. “Since when are you _neutral_ on anything, Riddle?”

“Since I appreciate and understand my enemies. And you are here for more than mere curiosity. What is it, Harry?”

“I would prefer it if you called me Keller.”

“I would prefer not to.”

Harry bared his teeth, but he nodded grudgingly. “I think that you’re going to be a lot stronger than you are right now, Riddle. And I’m going to be direct and honest, too. I’d like to steer you away from stupid tactics like having Malfoy and whoever was with him attack Ophelia’s shop.”

“That wasn’t my idea. You can be assured that they’ve been severely punished for that.”

“Fine. But you could still do other things I’d find repugnant. For instance, what are your views on Muggleborns?”

“That they can be just as strong, just as worthwhile, and just as troublesome as any other wizard in our world.”

Caught wrong-footed, Harry stared at him. Riddle laughed softly. “What, Harry? You’re Muggleborn, and I’m having dinner with you. Did you really think that I considered you filth on my boots, the way Abraxas does?”

“I—thought you would say that purity of blood matters. Because it’s what other people who follow you say.”

Riddle tilted his head to the side and ate four neat, quick bites of his fish. He reminded Harry of a cat. He could only hope he wasn’t the mouse. “I say that because my followers need to hear it. I told you. Whatever it takes to handle them.”

“Then—you’re still committed to acting as if you believe it. To hold onto them.” Harry felt steadier, and sipped his wine. He’d keep it to small swallows so as not to lose his head around Riddle. “That means that you’ll at least have to talk in public like you believe Muggleborns are inferior. Why would I go along with that?”

“To hear a different kind of talk in private. And to achieve what you want.”

“I told you what I want. To steer you onto a different path. It doesn’t look like you’ll go there, what with what your _followers_ demand of you.” Harry felt a distant sadness. He would have liked to help Dumbledore. But he just wasn’t good at enough at either politics or lying.

Riddle smiled at him. His eyes reflected the fire, and for a moment, really did seem to flash red. “You could have all the power you wanted. All the time to change my mind.”

“I don’t care about power.”

“Then you would be content to have been an ordinary wizard when Abraxas attacked? Someone without the knowledge or the magical strength to do anything?”

Harry frowned down at his hands. “I want power to help other people. Not for myself. And you can’t offer any other kind, Riddle, because of what you already told me you have to say in public.”

“There are still so many ways this can go.” Riddle motioned with his wineglass, the liquid inside moving like a serpent. “I can certainly change the behavior of my followers. Ones like Abraxas are going to be punished. I’m not going to act openly or violently.” His voice lowered, crept along the table to Harry like smoke. “What if you could change the way I acted in public, Harry? Make yourself prominent enough, and the pure-bloods would have no choice but to listen to you.”

This time, Harry directed his frown at Riddle. “I already know how _that_ goes. They might adopt a few of my ideas, but never anything about how Muggleborns are just as strong and worthy as pure-bloods. It’s too ingrained to change.”

“Some people think the corruption of the wizarding world too ingrained to change. I intend to challenge that. Will you be _truly_ content to leave matters as they are, Harry? I think you would join the struggle one way or the other, with me or against me. I am merely offering you the resources of an established side, and giving you the chance to change my aims.”

“And that _still_ doesn’t say what you’d be getting out of this, Riddle.”

“A clear-headed adviser, someone who can remind me when my pandering to the pure-bloods might go too far. Someone who can, perhaps, inspire other Muggleborns to follow me? There are so many answers, Harry.”

“Please stop using my name.”

“Keller puts you at a distance. Harry brings you closer. I would be pleased if you called me Tom.”

“When you—” Harry cut himself off. He wasn’t supposed to know that Tom hated his name, after all.

He swallowed and said firmly, “I’ll _think_ about it, Riddle. I still don’t think I’d be able to change very much. And your pure-blood followers aren’t going to like treating a Muggleborn as an equal, either.”

“Then fight them, Harry. Duel them, punish them, whatever you want to call it. I would like to see that, too.”

Harry met his eyes, and the answer as to why slid into his head without him even having to voice it. “Because that would punish them for some of what they did in the past when they thought you were a Muggleborn, too, right? And it would enmesh me further into your ranks, because it’s not like I’d get to break their haughty noses anywhere else.”

Riddle smiled and stood, coming around to the back of his chair. Harry swung to face him, glaring. Riddle lowered his head and breathed out in a gentle, steady stream of air on Harry’s ear, making Harry break into warm gooseflesh down his neck.

“You are incredibly perspicacious for someone who downplayed what he was all through Hogwarts, Harry. And I find that—incredibly _attractive_.”

Then his fingers were in play, not his breath, tracing the bumps that had sprung out on Harry’s skin as though he was looking to arouse Harry by touching them. Harry immediately jumped out of his chair.

“Thanks for dinner, Riddle, I’ve got to go,” he blurted out, and ran out of the manor, to the Apparition point that he’d used to come here, ignoring the sound of Riddle’s soft laughter as well as he could. He didn’t stop moving until he was back in his room near Ophelia’s shop, and then he slumped over and swore softly to himself.

He _had_ to infiltrate Riddle’s ranks. He’d promised Dumbledore. And this might be that best, only chance to turn Death Eaters off their path that he’d promised himself.

But if he knew the truth about Riddle’s motives now, he also knew about things like how handsome he’d thought the diary shade was. Or the memories of Riddle that his Dumbledore had shown him back in the past.

He was going to walk a tightrope if he did this. And he didn’t know if he would stay on or fall off.

Harry clenched his fingers into his thin mattress and looked up at the ceiling. _But the fate of the world matters more than my personal fate, whatever that is._

_Bring it on, Riddle._

**The End.**


End file.
